


Haunt

by Kdin



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dark fic, Delusions, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Hospital AU, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Drugs, anger management issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kdin/pseuds/Kdin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ghosts live inside him. They manifest in what they call symtoms and harmful behavior. And Natasha is half there, but James feels her in his veins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The dining room is all white walls and rays of sun coming through the windows. There is a very bad combination of smells: antiseptic and warm food.  James is sitting by himself on the cafeteria table, staring at his blue bowl of oatmeal, which looks more like glue. The plastic spoon is resting on his hand from the time he tasted a spoonful maybe 15 minutes ago.

He decides he isn’t hungry.

He had merely got up when a soft voice rebukes him. "No, James. You can only leave when you've finished." The nurse smiles.

He goes back to his seat like a scolded boy and instead of eating he studies the white plastic band around his wrist: JAMES BARNES #32557038 -117

That is all he knows of himself.

It’s his first day at the dining room from staying at the Pain Center where his multiple wounds and broken bones had been tended, and so far he hates it. He begins to play with his spoon, spinning it on the table absentmindedly. 

"What's wrong, rookie?" The sound of a metallic tray slamming into the table makes James flinch.

A young man wearing a black sleeveless shirt sits right next to him. James unconsciously gives him a gun stare. The tray is holding a big plate of scrambled eggs, a piece of bread and a small box of milk. James looks back at his full bowl of cold oatmeal. The man chuckles and stuffs his mouth with bread, he roughly grabs James wrist to read his ID bracelet. Surprisingly, James doesn’t battle it.

"I'm Clint," the man states with his mouth full. "Are you going to eat that?" He points at the bowl. James shakes his head. Clint looks around for nurses and downs James' oatmeal directly from the bowl. 

\---

At 5 pm they have to make line to take their medication. James stands behind Clint and wonders what’s wrong with him, wonders what's wrong with himself. He stares Clint's bare arms, how they are covered in scars, and then he remembers the scars of his own. James rubs his shoulder and sees Clint swallow his pills for the lady behind the counter.

When it's his turn, she greets him with a smile.

"Hello," she starts. "What's your name?" Her accent is surely British. James doesn’t know how he can tell and he hesitates to answer, he kind of just got used to having a name.

"It's James Barnes."

The lady smiles sweetly, he tilts his head in response.

"My name is Margaret but you can call me Peggy," she says as she places his medication in a small and fragile plastic cup. "If you ever need anything, I'll be there to help you."

James nods and swallows his pills.

\---

The patient lounge has three old brown couches and James finds himself sunk on one of them, a blanket wrapped around him and he doesn't move until they tell him it’s time to eat again. He refuses and they try to make him, he has to fight back to stay in his couch and they finally oblige and leave him alone. A couple of hours later it's dark outside and they tell him he has to go brush his teeth.

In the bathroom he meets a light-haired guy named Hank, unsure eyes, frail body. Hank stands in front of the mirror and talks to his own reflection,muttering things James doesn't understand. Then, Hank smiles at him and leans to his ear to whisper, "don’t look up."

James has to share his room with a 17 year old boy named Peter, and wishes they had paired him with somebody else because Peter spends the first three hours of the night crying and mumbling about spiders crawling in his bed. He scratches at his arms unforgivingly and turns from one side of the mattress to the other. Ar some point of the night James tries to calm him down and gives up after Peter pushes him to the floor with all his weight. James decides to leave the room.

He walks the halls barefooted, the lights flicker above him and he feels faint, he feels ghosts of the pain he's sure he once felt. He walks leaning on the wall and when the hall ends he sees her.

She's sitting on the floor, next to the window. Her cheekbones are flushed with pink, her lips are sucking the nicotine out of a cigarette and he wants to run his fingers through her wavy, red hair. He doesn't quit staring at her, he slips to the floor and the wall is the only thing supporting his body. The smoke smells so good to him; he wishes he could steal her breath.

\---

The nurse thinks James is unconscious when she finds him lying across the floor at 6 am. She gives him to smell methyl alcohol in a cotton ball. James groans and finallystirrs awake. The nurse asks nicely what had happened but he doesn't answer, he doesn't say anything, instead he throws up, nothing but saliva and blood.

He is cleaned up by two nurses that are scarily much bigger than him, even when James isn't a small man. They escort him back to his room where Peter is crying silently against his pillow. James wonders if he got any sleep at all.

\---

When it's time for breakfast they give him the same blue bowl with oatmeal and James sits in the same place as the day before but this time he looks up at the others. Peter is sitting with a young nurse, who is trying to have him eat. On another table there is the girl from last night, the one with the cigarettes. James thought it had been a dream or a hallucination like the ones he experienced at the Pain Center. He is helplessly staring at her again.

Clint soon comes and sits next to him, slamming his tray like he had done and James wants to punch him in the face for that.

"Hey, I heard you threw up on that nurse Jane!" James’ laugh is a choked huff of air. "Good one."

"Who told you?"

"Oh, you talk!?" Clint snickers as James resists from rolling his eyes. "My roommate, Hank."

"How's he?" James asks shoveling oatmeal into his mouth.

"Eh. He killed his girlfriend." Clint shrugs. "You know."

Hank is sitting with two guys, one seems nice, glasses and curly hair and a purple sweater. The other keeps counting the things around him and writing things down on multiple sheets of paper that lay dispersed on their table.

"Who are the others?"

"Ugly sweater is Bruce." Clint points at him with his plastic spoon. "Van Dyke beard intent is Tony."

Clint digs in his bowl of Fruit Loops and takes bites of his ugly looking croissant. He finishes all the food in his tray by the time James gives up on his bowl.  

"Aw come on, soldier! You almost finish it whole!"

"All yours."

James feels an icy glare on him. He looks up to have his eyes meet the redhead’s. They break their eye contact almost immediately.

"Go talk to her." Clint murmurs with his head down.

"Do you know her?" James has interest show in his voice for the first time.

"No. She's been here for a couple weeks." Clint fixes James hair or at least he tries. "Now go." He pushes him away in her direction. James soon has to stand up so he doesn’t fall.

The redhead doesn’t look at him when he sits next to her, she is too busy nibbling at a piece of toast and her eyes are hung on the garden outside.

James tries to make eye contact again as he rises his voice. "Have you been outside?"

The girl remains silent for a moment, then she puts down her toast and stares into his eyes, "ты говоришь мне, потому что я красивая?"

James paralyzes for a moment, biting his bottom lip afterwards. He looks away. _She speaks fucking Russian._ He thinks of leaving but something clicks in his head, there’s something that makes sense, he’s not close to finding out what it is but he’s distracted by the thought.

The redhead ignores James. She drinks the milk left on her cup and puts the tray aside. James looks at her curvy lips and he wonders why she’s here. The girl reaches for his hand and she tries to read his name on the white wristband.

“James.” He says and he loves the way her slim fingers move his hand around before letting it go.

“Natasha.” She responds softly. They don’t say anything else.

\---

After breakfast Natasha is called into session with her therapist and James is sent to the lounge. There, he finds Hank letting some ants in from the window and Tony doing sums out loud, he is now over the number twelve thousand something.

James sits in front of the ignored TV, he gazes the screen and loses himself there; the images of a person being kidnapped and tied into a chair make him shiver, his heart rate getting higher, the faded sound of earsplitting screams are getting louder, more vivid inside his head. He doesn’t realize he is screaming himself, his hands cover his ears and his eyes are shut tightly.

There are hands touching him, he feels them and he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know if they’ll hurt him again like they did, then the hands make him open his eyes, he ceases his gut-wrenching howls.

He’s panting and cold sweating and he notices the tears spread across his cheeks. Nurse Foster is in front of him, her mouth is moving but James hears nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

 " _Dzheyms_?"  

 

 

Jane is pushing James' body forward. Her hands are firmly placed on his lower back, protecting him from falling and giving him the push he needs to walk straight. He is kind of absent, that's why Natasha's voice feels so far away. James makes an effort to shake the haziness away and look up. All lights around him are blurry, his knees want to give in but he keeps his eyes fixed on her figure; she's walking towards him. The other nurses cradle her body, only they know how dangerous she could be. To James it is cruel to watch but as their shoulders touch ever so slightly, she lowers her voice and says: "красный".   
   
 --- 

"Take a sit." He orders, keeping his hands on the desk. James feels his lungs set awkwardly in his ribcage as he obeys.   
"I am sorry we didn't meet earlier," James uses the 'I don't give a fuck' slow-blink. His eyes are sunk in his skull. "My name is Philip Coulson, I'll be your therapist."   
   
James flares his nose and chokes in a deep breath. Silence takes the room for a few seconds. "Hi," he mutters.   
   
"Hi. I'm sure you have plenty of questions."   
   
"And you care to explain?" James raises an eyebrow at the suited man. Since he had woke up, alone, in pain and without knowing a shit about himself or anybody else, no one had bothered to explain the situation to him, no matter how many times he asked.    
Then they transferred him to another hospital, where people just called him that name over and over again and he wasn't sure if it was in fact, his.  
   
"This is Queen's Mercy Hospital Center for Mental Health. You were admitted here under the name James Barnes, no other information is known about you. Your only belongings were given to you in the Pain Center," He takes out a small plastic bag with a hospital gown folded inside and places it on the table. "which will be banked by the staff, and the clothes you are wearing, given to you by us. A pair of pants, t-shirt, sweatshirt and a pair of no lace sneakers. No shoe laces are allowed here," James can feel the corner of his lips twisting in a smirk. He didn't know there was a reason for that, he just thought they had a terrible fashion taste.

"As well as knives, box cutters, scissors, tools, belts, or any item which could be used as a potential weapon. We have other rules." Phil begins his litany, the exact same way he's recited it a million times before. "A washer and a dryer are available for use in the unit for patients without family resources. No substance misuse. No self harming, if you want to shave you'll be supervised. Medication will be at set times and so will meals. You must treat the others as you expect to be treated yourself, including the staff. You get points for good behavior, and with certain amount of points you are allowed to do more activities. Lights out at eleven." Coulson takes out a form and puts it on the desk, in front of James and hands him a pen. "Sign if you agree our terms, you will be taken care of until you're recovered and can be a functioning member of society."   
  
_What the hell is this crap?_  He thinks but writes his name anyway. He's not finished when he looks up at the man on the other side, he realizes his glance must be menacing when Phil's eyes darken too. "Are you going to tell me about myself? Who did this to me or who was I?"  
  
"We can't."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You're on recovery."  
  
"I'm only asking..." James finishes signing and looks at his hand, holding the pen like it's a weapon of mass destruction.  
  
"Sorry." Coulson cuts him off and slowly snatches the pen away and stores the form in a box. "So last night they found you passed out in the hall…"   
   
"I was asleep."   
   
"You wouldn't wake up,"   
   
"Fast. Asleep."   
   
"All right. Why did you leave your room?" Coulson leans in.   
   
He can't mention Peter pushing him to the ground and crying frenetically. James purses his lips.   
   
"It's okay." Phil smiles to him, making James believe it really is. "Can you tell me what happened earlier?"   
   
James shakes his head.   
   
"You remembered something." James turns his head, refusing to have any more eye contact. "It's all right, James. You can tell me."   
   
After a moment, he sighs and keeps his eyes fixed on the window, it was sunny outside,  _wow_ , he went to want to choke in endless cigarettes, to want to breathe fresh air and lay on green grass.  
   
"I see things I forgot happened... Like a door unlocking in my mind... Torture... Slaughter..." He bites on his lower lip, having all those nightmares and hallucinations was bad as it was, trying to remember on the other hand…   
   
"What do you see?" Coulson lowers his voice.   
   
James clenches his jaw and swallows hard, he really doesn't want to talk about it. "Red."   
   
\---  
   
The brown couch smells like dust and cleanser when James sinks his face on the cushion. He was sent to the lounge after his session and he wishes he could fall asleep for at least thirty fucking minutes but his mind is racing with stupid rants about his life being a boring nightmare.   
   
"What's up, punk?" A voice says making a great emphasis on the Kay with his throat. "You want some drugs?"   
   
James looks up arching his back in an uncomfortable position to find Clint carrying a black backpack.   
   
"Hm?"   
   
"Here," he pushes James' shoulder to make him sit up. "What do you want? Cocaine, heroine. You name it."   
   
"A pack of cigs?" James tugs a lock of hair of his own.   
   
"Oh. Yeah, sure. But  _DARE_." Clint pulls out a pack of Marlboro from his back pack and holds it with two fingers, uncomfortably close to James' face.   
   
"What?" He slaps the hand away from him.   
   
"Drugs Are Really Expensive." Clint grins and saves the pack in his jean's pocket.   
   
"Uh huh. What do you want?" James shifts on his seat, feeling a thrill running through his body.   
   
"I'll be merciful with you. See, I have this problem and I need some syringes."   
   
James frowns but then it makes sense. "You're a heroine junkie."   
   
"Really?" Clint's eyes go wide in mock surprise. "Yes, okay, Einstein. Get me some."   
   
"How? The Pain Center is far from here,"   
   
"No, go to the infirmary or something. I don't know man, use your imagination."   
   
\---  
   
When it's their bedtime James feels wide awake and full of energy. He leaves Peter, who is sucking on his thumb making no other noise.   
   
He makes his way to one of the bathrooms in his wing, it is a dusty, small room with a bathtub, a toilet and a sink, all inconveniently placed.  

And a mirror. 

  
James is suddenly fixed on it. The eyes that stare back at him are empty and cold as ice; they hold and abyss inside. Looking back at him with hatred, like he is going to be killed by that monster in the mirror.   
And he's paralyzed until he punches his reflection, glass flying across the room.   
His heart is pounding, it hurts his lungs. Breathing in and out in despair. 'It's gone' he thinks.   
   
Stepping out of the bathroom he finds Natasha, with her dead eyes, looking like she was waiting for him all along. He freezes in front of her, their height difference makes him want to take her in his arms and protect her from whatever monsters are haunting her in her head.    
Her hands are on him now, feeling the muscles on James' sides, every nerve of his lights up.    
Natasha unzips his black hoodie, the one he's been wearing since he got out of the Pain Center, she slips it out of him ever so slowly, as if James was asleep but he's just staring back at her.   
Natasha leaves him with a black sleeveless shirt, just like Clint's, gelid air hits his bare arms and make him shiver.   
That's it. She's cold.   
   
It's one or two sizes too big for her, after rubbing her arms she turns away and disappears into the darkness of the hall.   
   
James breathes out, his bones feel stiff, suddenly he has an urge to collapse.   
   
\---  
   
It's 3 am.    
He is really craving a cigarette.   
   
Following the green neon light from an exit sign he finds a glass door. The door he doesn't remember coming in from.   
   
The shadows behind him whisper to him, loudly enough to be consider a shout: "Go back to sleep."   
   
There is no one there, he knows that; he knows that the voices that push him are not real.   
   
But the glass door is cracked open, someone left it that way on purpose. James goes outside, careful that no one is around.    
The highway is so close, he almost wishes he had somewhere to go. And there's the garden he told Natasha about. James wants to take her there, they could lay on the grass, watch the clouds go by, escape somewhere together.   
   
Next thing he knows, he is standing on the rooftop. And he's slightly surprised.   
   
_"Uh, not bad_ ", a voice in his head claims, _"shut up", "jump"._  
   
James walks on the edge, he is doing fine and most importantly he is finally at peace. His heart isn't racing because a beautiful woman touched him and he's not sweating cold because a bad dream is keeping him from sleeping.   
He's just calm.   
   
The light of a lantern calls his attention. Oh, after all there is security in this place.    
Terribly familiar to a prison's. 

James takes a look to the man from security, wearing all black, earphones, he moves the lantern from side to side but doesn't look around.    
So it doesn't matter.   
   
He opens his arms to maintain balance, breathing in the scent of the cold night.   
   
Something stupid goes on, his foot loses its place and he takes a 9 feet fall, all his right side hits the pavement ground, especially his forearm, which protected his head.   
   
What a silly thing, to have an instinct of survival.   
   
"Shit…" James mutters, incorporating slightly. The guard didn't see that,  _unbelievable_.   
   
It looks like part of his skin was peeled off his arm, it's completely gone, filled with dirt; bloody and black. He sighs and bites down his bottom lip after.   
Getting back on his feet is just a bit of a trouble.    
   
James kicks the glass door open, he's not sure where he's supposed to go now but he's taking a chance.   
   
After traveling in circles on the maze of a hospital he's exhausted, looking at the end of the hall where the infirmary is supposed to be and his body freezes when he sees a small boy who stares back at him. They stay there, looking at each other for a moment until the boy smiles and runs away and the walls echoes the sound of his sweet laughter.   
   
James goes after him and he doesn't know why. His steps are careful and quick, his heart rate has increased already when a door opens all of sudden, he steps back in the act and breathes out when he realized he's found the infirmary.   
A nurse with long and curly hair comes out eagerly.   
"Oh." She's relieved. "What are you doing here?"   
   
James raises his injured arm to show her. "I slipped."    
   
"Jesus. Come in, poor thing." She guides him inside and makes him sit on a metallic chair. James keeps his arm held up. "What were you doing?" The nurse hurries to get rubbing alcohol and a gauze to clean the wound.    
   
Her voice makes him think of cotton candy. A silent groan gets stuck in James' throat at the stinging sensation. He almost forgets he's been questioned, he doesn't know what to say anyway.   
   
"I went out. It was an accident."   
   
"I know, it's alright." She bandages his arm with delicate fingers that barely apply pressure into him.   
   
The whole situation got him feeling all corrupt and excited. All he wants is to get in trouble but in this place it seems to be fucking impossible.  _Right. The syringes._ He looks around, scanning the room for them, and there's a bunch inside a glass cabinet.   
   
The lady drops a bloodstained cloth in the container. "I'll escort you back to your room." She leans closer to make James look at her, but his eyes don't meet hers, they stay fixed on the cabinet  
   
"Can I have a lollipop?" He uses a soft tone and finally looks at her with his stupid huge eyes.   
The nurse frowns for a second and then smiles. "Um, I think I have some in my office." She stands up and enters to the contiguous small room.   
   
James quickly opens the cabinet and saves a handful of packed syringes in his pants, like a loaded gun, hopefully she won't notice.    
He sits back on his place motionless.   
   
"Here," The lady hands him a purple lollipop wrapped in plastic. James nods once. "Can I see your wristband for a second?" But it's not like she's asking for permission, she grabs his right wrist carefully, James is so grateful they put that plastic piece of shit on his free arm, just now he's realizing how much his wound stings.   
   
"Alright, let's go to your room, shall we?" She smiles for no reason, James wonders how anyone can do that.   
   
\---  
   
The nurse tucks him in, as if that would give him in to sleep. People are so kind to him and he wants to know why, he's sure he doesn't deserve that kindness but at least he's sure that all that violence that lingers inside him, once he releases it, it will backfire. 

She mutters some soothing words but James doesn't understand them, she is about to leave when he grabs hold of her wrist. The nurse turns her head, she's afraid, her eyes have widened and James can feel her body stiffen. She wants to run or call security, her face is so readable it's pathetic.  

"Thank you." He lets go off her slowly and shifts to his side, waiting for her to go, tell everybody a monster has touched her.   

Her footsteps disturb the silence until they can't be heard anymore. James swings his feet off the edge of the bed and peeks at Peter, he's sleeping in a very uncomfortable position: face down, knees bent, ass up. James shakes his head in amusement.  

\---

"Clint?" He doesn't know how but he's found Hank and Clint's room. It only took him fifty minutes and one momentary hallucination. 

"Fuck off, Barnes." James is standing next to the mattress; Clint is shielding his eyes with the crook of his arm, after stirring a little he doesn't move again for a while. James just stares at him, syringes in hand, feeling maybe a bit anxious about smoking. "You're not fucking off, why are you not fucking off, I told you to leave!" 

"Got your damn syringes. Do you still want them or do we forget about this?"  

Clint sits up straight in a second, no struggling, just his fingers running through his hair.  

"Okay. How'd it go? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow or something." He doesn't waste time to take the handful of syringes away from James' grasp.

"This is nice. Guess I'll have to give you the lighter as well. What the hell happened to you?" He's talking too fast, caring too much about disappearing the syringes under his mattress than the other's well being. James looks down at his bandaged arm with no intentions of explanation. "Doesn't matter, here." It's a damaged pack of cigarettes and a plastic lighter with teeth marks but it's what it is. 

James scans the room with his peripheral vision before accepting the objects.

He can't help himself with those reflexes, it would be like putting fingers on his throat and not gagging. He wants to say something, tell Clint that Queen's Mercy is bigger than he thought, warn him that all the halls look the same and that there are at least three buildings, all connected by bridges, but all that comes out of his mouth is a question. "Do you know the blond kid?"   
   
"What blond kid?" Clint's body plops back into his bed, his hands beneath his neck.   
   
"You know, scrawny and short, around the age of twelve?"   
   
"There are no kids on this hospital." Clint is almost snoring at this point.  
   
\---   
   
"Checks!"    
   
_Checks? What the fuck is that? Checks. Why have they decided to check on us now? Holy shit. I fell asleep. When did I get here?_    
His eyelids hurt, his  _eyeballs_ hurt. He squints at the white light that is coming in from the window.   
   
"Come.  _ON_. It's freaking five in the morning!" Someone in the next room calls out, seriously annoyed.   
   
James inhales a bunch of air to give his brain oxygen enough to get up, he's damn ready to run away. Moments before, his brain made some connections. If it's five in the morning there is no chance that white light comes from the window, it's surgical lightning. They have him again.  _No, not again_.    
   
Waking up in a gasp of horror disturbs Peter, because he angrily throws his pillow at James and whines with his head pressed against the wall. The white lightning results to be just a lamp. James frowns and wants to whine himself but only ends up wiping the sweat on his forehead.   
The British nurse sticks her head in the room. 

"Gentlemen." She actually smiles at them. At five a.m.? What a difficult task. "Every Monday we have a routine," James puts his head on his hands, he wishes he could give up on his stupid medication, the only thing it accomplishes is make him pass out. "First: shower, then doctor's appointment and lastly, breakfast." 

 

 

 

The same voice shouts from the other voice, " _Bullshiiiit!_ "   
Then laughter can be heard, even a quiet giggle escapes her, "I know, it's awful. But Monday's breakfast consists of pancakes, so. Better hurry up." James can hear Peter getting out of bed, stumbling across the room and when he finally gathers the willpower to look up, Peter is holding Peggy's hand. 

\---

The shower room has multiple stalls, all lined next to each other and they have a transparent plastic curtain to prevent the water to splash around the place and obviously, to prevent people from staring at your wet, naked body. There's also a weighing and height measuring scale on a lonely corner and right now he wants to go over there and sit in silence because everyone around him is undressing themselves, abandoning their clothes on the large bench in the middle. James takes off the bloodied bandage first; after eyeing the other corners of the place he realizes the male nurses are there, and it's sort of a relief and sort of a threat. All he knows is that he's grateful the water is cold, scalding his skin would be a bad start for the day.

The tiniest piece of soap is placed on the shower shelf. James ends up just leaning his head in the wall, letting the water run through his hair and down his back and rubbing the soap on his body with one hand.

  
"Oh, Barnes! Is that you?" Tony shouts from the doorway, Clint is right behind him. They walk like they really own the place, loudly laughing, especially Clint. James decides to stay still, his muscles wouldn't respond anyway. And Tony continues, "You have a nice butt!"

\---

One moment he's nesting on the floor, outside the doctor's office; thick and soft blanket around him, his hair is damp and warm. The other he's stripped down to his boxers, sitting on the cold metal of an examination table. Doctor Erik says he's lost weight and whatnot, James tells himself it's not the only thing he's lost.  
Also now that his body is a hundred percent exposed, the doctor highlights James' wounds, the ones that they found him with. He says that his bones may not adjust the way they did before but that there are painkillers for that, also exercise. The purple, red, green and blue stains of bruises are still visible, as they were pieces smashed blood, they are not wash-off.

"Do you have a file?" James raises his voice for the first time in the day. His legs are still swinging on the edge of the table.

"Excuse me?" Doctor Eric doesn't look up from his journal-writing.

"A file, with my records." He remembers Coulson's words, the way he was ducking James' questions, using one word replies. It's unsettling to know the truth and perhaps, he is the only one who knows about his past. "Can you tell me? If you don't have a file?"

The man sighs and takes his glasses off, he's looking at James with pity and anticipated regret. "Look, son. I'm not allowed to let you know this information but I am aware that is for your full concern." He pauses as if he was expecting a response, a _'I promise I won't_ _tell anything, cross my heart and hope to die'_  but there's nothing. "It's only details, and a lot of them. So gut up." James shifts on his spot, his shoulder blades crack silently behind him. Erik stands up taking a pack of bandages out of a gabinet and walks towards the other man. "Hold it up." James raises his arm just a little, it looks worse than the night before. 

Doctor Eric cleans and bandages the wound as he speaks, he keeps his voice low. Walls can hear. 

"Someone found you, under a bridge at four in the morning or so; majorly bleeding, broken bones, bruised. Called an ambulance. You spent a couple of weeks in recovery, wake up and know nothing about yourself. You're unidentified and the only thing that could be fished out is your name; even, they are not entirely sure that it belongs to you. Time keeps passing by, you develop delusions, night terrors, plus your amnesia? Your final destination is set. Diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. Expected to recover here. To be honest, all that they want is answers, the government presumes that you're not the only victim of this attack. They're keeping an eye on you."

All he can do is look down at the very white floor and nod after digesting the information. 

"Whoever did this to you, had a reason. They wiped you off this earth. They have that kind of power, to delete every record ever made of you, and all we want to know..." He puts a hand on James shoulder and looks at him deep in the eye. "...is what did you do to deserve this."  

 


End file.
